


hold me down

by LugianBeforeSwine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, M/M, POV Second Person, i wrote the first one in second person will and then just...kept going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29450295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LugianBeforeSwine/pseuds/LugianBeforeSwine
Summary: This is how you die: supine, arms suspended above your head, wrists tied tight together.Drabble collection with prompts taken from the 100-prompts comm on LJ. Some canon-verse, some post-canon, some canon-divergent. Most are kinda dark but there is some fluff too.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Lively

After the fall, you can’t stay in one place for very long. Even the most trusting of locals get suspicious after a while. But playing the game is exhilarating, and he shows you everything you never knew you wanted to see. His enthusiasm is infectious, no matter the subject: the two of you discuss architecture, history, religion. Blending into crowds, you view monuments, parks, and museums. And you let him in, your minds exposed to each other, the most intimate act you’ve ever performed. At night, he holds you, teeth bared against your skin, and you don’t hide your smile.


	2. Remorseful

The light leaves his eyes when you tell him you won’t look for him. You were never a family and you never will be. For everything he gave you, he took two more away. You crave normalcy, or at least something close to it (there is no room left in your heart or mind for ‘normal’ as the word is commonly understood.) You hold his gaze, hoping you’ll never see his face again; knowing that you will, if not in life, then in dreams, in nightmares. This is the separation you had spoken of. You wonder if you will survive.


	3. Dismiss

“…We’ll pick up from here on Wednesday.” Students pack up their belongings and file out of the hall, and you turn your attention to the visitor who is now ambling toward your desk.

“A mysterious case, to be sure.” 

If anyone else but you were to look at him, they would surely miss the hint of mirth present in one corner of his lips. And in fact, the students who are slower to leave _are_ looking. You incline your head in acknowledgement of your shared, private joke.

“To dinner, then?” you inquire, shouldering your laptop bag.

“To dinner,” he affirms.


	4. Heavy

This is how you die: supine, arms suspended above your head, wrists tied tight together. A weight bearing down on your chest, impeding the full inflation of your lungs. Gasping, sweating, desperate tears escaping your eyes. A dull ache in your abdomen, remembered pain coupled with an anguish so profound it seemed to pierce your soul. Lights flashing behind your eyes when you squeeze them shut, a molten gaze boring into you when they flutter open. A harsh whisper against your ear, and then the taste of blood passed between you: a sacrifice which always brings you back to life.


	5. Forward

The constant traveling leaves little time for intentional reflection. Perhaps this is why you have nightmares. Surging to consciousness in the bitterly cold Atlantic, everything made only of water and shadows, aware at first of nothing but pain, and therein the implication of your being alive, is not something that your vitally damaged brain easily lets go of.

You know he has nightmares too. You’ve seen his eyes moving under pale lids, witnessed him grimace and his brows draw together. What frightens the Ripper? you wonder. Maybe one day, he’ll deign to share with you. For now, you continue on.


	6. Prowl

There’s nothing like the look in your prey’s eyes when they know they’ve been cornered. Adrenaline rushing, fight-or-flight activating, the gutting realization that neither option will allow them a way out: it plays out in glorious slow-motion, better than any movie, the desperation tangible and delicious. This is your favorite game to play together, and there are no two people on the earth more attuned to one another than you and your fellow predator. There is no need for speech, only a glance passed between you, and the plan is laid out clearly before your eyes. You will feast tonight.


	7. Cut

His eyes widen the smallest fraction, lips parting on an inaudible sound, and it nearly makes your breath hitch, but your hands are steady as you work to complete the pattern. It had been his suggestion, and you have no doubt he intends to see it through. The Ripper is not wholly invincible, and how deeply satisfying to know only you are permitted to retain this knowledge and live.

You lift your knife and watch the blood trail lazily down his abdomen. When you look up, his eyes are radiating fire, and you want nothing more than to be consumed.


	8. Compromise

“I think it’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Yes, well, you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Hannibal.”

“Will.”

“Please?”

“The puppy-dog eyes are, in this particular matter, not helping your case.”

“It’ll just be one more. You probably won’t even notice.”

“That is exactly what you said about the last five. And believe me, I have noticed.”

“But you love them too!”

“Yes, I will admit that they have grown on me. But even so, don’t you think thirteen dogs is enough?”

“Even when this one so clearly wants to come home with us?”

“…Oh, fine. Your happiness is my own.”

“God, I love you.”


	9. Impulse

Closer than you’ve ever been, he reaches out a bloodied hand and gently, wonderingly, strokes your matted hair. Your fingers dig into his sides, pressing between his ribs, and you squeeze until your hands ache, but he doesn’t move away. His tender hold feels familiar, but this time, you are not the one who is to be punished. Your victim’s unseeing gaze is fixed on the dark sky overhead, while your companion’s worshipful stare remains solely on you. How can you feel so vulnerable and so powerful all at once?

When his lips touch yours, you think you might understand.


	10. Hush

In the ambient hum of the chapel, you meet him. He is at his most beautiful: soaked in blood, bruised and cut, eyes as sharp as they ever were in life. The patron saint of revenge, standing before you now in glorious clarity. Your knees buckle; you cry out in supplication. He looks upon you with evident fondness, a smile not quite hidden in the corners of his lips.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. We were—” Your voice breaks and you swallow thickly. Bowing your head, you whisper to him: “Hannibal, we were never supposed to be apart.”


	11. Morals

The rending of supple flesh, the wet snapping of bone, the glistening shine of deep red blood spilling forth—these are the prayers he offers to his god. The flash of terror in his victim’s eyes, the sharp glint of harsh light reflecting off his knife; all this belongs to the divine. There is a hymn in every scream, every plea, every strangled gasp as blood bubbles over quivering lips. Gods must be appeased with sacrifices, and you, though mortal, are no exception. Your supplicant grins as his offerings are accepted, and you, ever benevolent, reward him for his devotion.


	12. Engage

You didn’t want to open up at first. You’d never been very good at it—at least, not when it came to yourself. Other peoples’ lives took up residence on the inside of your eyelids; there was no room for your own. But your life was the one he was interested in, and it bothered you—intrigued you, really, though you tried to deny it—that his was the one life you could not see into. In your mission to break him open, you allowed him inside. It was a catastrophic mistake, and you would make it again and again.


	13. Voice

If you were a different sort of man, with a different sort of lover, it might embarrass you how efficiently his voice takes you apart. In turns assuring, commanding, worshipping, begging, everything else fades into distant static as you close your eyes and listen to him. Sometimes the words are familiar, sometimes they’re in a foreign tongue, but you understand everything by cadence, by intonation, by dynamics. More delicate, more beautiful than any aria that could be written. 

You smile when you break, as you always do with him. He whispers your name, so tender, and you luxuriate in it.


	14. Awkward

“Mornin’,” you mumble, opening the door a little wider to greet the clearly shocked man standing on the porch. You gesture vaguely at your own body, covered only with a robe, as you add, “Sorry about the attire. We weren’t expecting a visitor this early.”

Jack Crawford’s mouth hangs open most unattractively. He hurriedly snaps it shut, but before he can comment, Hannibal steps in smoothly at your shoulder, tying closed his own robe. “Good morning, Jack. What a pleasant surprise. Would you like to come in for breakfast?”

“Actually,” Jack says haltingly, “I think I’ll, uhh…I’ll come back later.”


	15. Lower

Shifting in and out of consciousness against your will, you don’t retain many memories of those first few days. You know he must have pulled you from the ocean, fed you and tended your wounds. Most of your memories are simple sensory echoes: blood, pain, cold; then later, the sharp smell of antiseptic and the bitter taste of medicine.

Your clearest, strongest memory: five senses engaged as he carefully, tenderly lowered you onto a soft mattress. As his fingers stroked your hair, he whispered to you, a promise you have never once doubted he will keep: “I am yours, Will.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna try to be more active on my fandom twitter. Drop me a line if you wish! @LugianB4Swine


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